


Run the Risk

by dracoqueen22



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Amalgamated Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-War, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:54:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27334510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: Soundwave has long ago accepted who Jazz is, but that doesn’t always make it easy to weather the near misses.
Relationships: Jazz/Soundwave (Transformers)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 70





	Run the Risk

**Author's Note:**

> For The Awkward Enthusiast

Soundwave’s armor prickles, and his instincts must be growing dull, because he notices the assassin a full two kliks after Jazz does. By then, it’s too late for him to do anything to stop his partner from diving at Optimus, shoving him out of the way as the blaster shot pierces the afternoon. The sound of its impact rings in Soundwave’s audials.  
  
Time slows.  
  
Jazz’s grunt of pain echoes abnormally loud. He and Optimus hit the ground in a clatter. Laserbeak takes off from Soundwave’s shoulder, and Ravage turns into a streak of black, cutting through the gathered crowd.  
  
The stench of discharged plasma hangs in the stunned silence.  
  
Time rolls forward, faster now, as if catching up from the brief pause. Soundwave lurches into motion. Mechs shout as the crowd reacts, some turning to run, others surging forward to help, the click-click of weapons engaging as tensions spike in a nauseating cacophony.  
  
Soundwave immediately shuts down his higher receptors before the miasma overwhelms him. He's not surprised someone tried to kill Optimus on the day of his speech announcing the new unified government. He is, however, angry he had not been more prepared for this outcome.  
  
"Evacuate in an orderly fashion. Holster your weapons. Stay calm!" Prowl's barked orders rise above the din.  
  
"Got him!" Ravage snaps across the comm, and finally, Soundwave is at Jazz's side, pushing through the soldiers who closed ranks around their fallen Prime.  
  
"I'm fine," Optimus says, but he's coated in energon, none of it his, because he's cradling Jazz, who's profusely seeping energon while he looks up at Soundwave with a cocky grin.  
  
"I saw it first," he says, energon coating one half of his visor, which flickers fitfully. "What's my prize, lover?"  
  
Exasperation taints Soundwave's relief, but he stoops to gather Jazz into his arms. "Medic," he says.  
  
"Awww. I'm fine," Jazz says, patting Soundwave's dock and leaving a smear of energon behind. "It's just a mesh wound."  
  
Soundwave ignores him, and Optimus waves him away, standing on his own two feet, nary a scratch despite the tumble. Energon paints his armor in lurid lines. There’s not a scratch on him.  
  
"Thank you, Jazz," Optimus calls after them. He’s surrounded by more protectors than a single mech needs. It isn’t Soundwave’s business to look after him.  
  
"Anytime, OP." Jazz flashes a bright smile Optimus can't see.  
  
"Anytime," Soundwave echoes, and he gives Jazz a dour look.  
  
Jazz shivers theatrically. "Oh, I know what that means. I'm in for a lecture, ain't I?"  
  
"What's the idiot done to himself now?" asks Ratchet before Soundwave can answer, and he briefly surrenders Jazz to the medic's care.  
  
Laserbeak circles overhead, relaying information Soundwave shunts into a queue, to be examined later. Ravage returns, slinking out of the shadows, looking pleased with herself.  
  
"Caught him," she says. "Extremist. War sect. Acting alone, I'd guess." She sits on her haunches and looks around, optics narrowed. "Think I'll stay. Keep looking into it. Yes?"  
  
Soundwave nods. "Go."  
  
Ravage vanishes back into the crowd, doing what she does best, and above, Laserbeak says, "I'll stay with her. Provide support. Take care of Jazz, brother."  
  
"No, I'm not goin' to the clinic," Jazz protests, and Soundwave returns his attention to his partner and Ratchet, both of whom have their jaws set with identical stubbornness.  
  
"It's a precaution," Ratchet argues.  
  
Jazz squirms out of Ratchet's grip and circles closer to Soundwave. "Can ya honestly say I haven't had worse? C'mon, Ratch. Sounders will take me home." He pats Soundwave's dock again. "He'll look after me."  
  
Ratchet sighs and plants his hands on his hips. "I'm concerned about processor damage," he says, to Soundwave not Jazz.  
  
"Jazz personality not injury," Soundwave says.  
  
"Hey!" Jazz's field spikes with outrage.  
  
Ratchet chuckles. "Fine, fine. Go home." He waves them off. "I'm going to check on our fearless leader.”  
  
"We're not really goin' home, right? We should stick around. Investigate," Jazz says, only to squeak when Soundwave sweeps him back up.  
  
Surprising Jazz will never cease to be entertaining.  
  
"Negative," Soundwave says. "Ravage and Laserbeak to investigate."  
  
"They get to have all the fun," Jazz grumbles, but he turns strutless in Soundwave's arms, and lets himself be carried. "Fine. Sweep me away, lover."  
  


~

  
  
Ratchet has done an excellent job repairing Jazz, per the usual, but he’s made only a perfunctory effort to clean up the energon coating Jazz's armor. Which means Soundwave has the perfect excuse to take Jazz straight to the wash rack and get him cleaned to Soundwave's standards -- including a nice, glossy polish.  
  
"Maybe it's worth it, gettin' shot, if it means yer gonna spoil me," Jazz says afterward, laying on the berth like a cybercat who caught the metallocanary. His limbs are asprawl, his head pillowed in Soundwave's lap, while Soundwae works a polishing cloth over the delicate sensory horns at the crest of it.  
  
"Amusing: not," Soundwave says.  
  
Jazz sighs and squirms a bit. "Yeah, I know. But I ain't gonna apologize either. That's the way it is with me, lover. Ya knew that coming in."  
  
Yes, he did. And he'd accepted Jazz, risks and all. Doesn't mean he can't funnel his worry and stress into making sure every inch of Jazz is the usual perfection.  
  
"Hey." Jazz wraps a hand around Soundwave's wrist, stopping the sweep of the cloth. "Think I'm shiny enough, don't you? Somethin' else would really fix me right up." He waggles his orbital ridges.  
  
"Jazz ridiculous," Soundwave says, but he tosses the cloth in the collection bin anyway and runs his fingers over the static mesh Ratchet had slapped over the injury.  
  
Just a mesh wound, indeed. One that happened to hit what Jazz likes to call a gusher, because it looks messier than it is. But a few microns to the right and it would've pierced Jazz's processor. Ratchet is good at what he does, but he's not a miracle-worker.  
  
Soundwave draws in a shuddering vent. He shifts, ignoring Jazz's hum of protest, but he's not as limber as Jazz, can't bend at the midsection to kiss Jazz like he wants. He can pick up Jazz,however, move him just so, until he's arrayed in a pile of pillows and smirking up at Soundwave, expectant.  
  
"Is it nap-time?" Jazz teases, his fingers walking up Soundwave's arms which are braced to either side of his shoulders. "I mean, it's pretty early."  
  
Sometimes, the only way to get Jazz to be quiet is to kiss him. The click of Soundwave’s mask opening precedes him bending over to claim Jazz’s mouth, and Jazz melts into the kiss, his field reaching out with affection. Briefly, mercifully, quiet.  
  
“That’s better,” Jazz murmurs against Soundwave’s mouth. “Do I get more?”  
  
“Jazz greedy,” Soundwave says, but he sits back, his hands roaming over Jazz’s frame, tracing the lines of his armor, dipping into his seams, drawing familiar patterns. Reassuring himself that Jazz is alive and well.  
  
It’s only a mesh wound.  
  
“Hey, big guy, I’m right here,” Jazz murmurs, one hand cupping Soundwave’s cheek, his field sending pulses of reassurance that bump against the dialed down receptors.  
  
Soundwave doesn’t trust himself to turn them back on just yet. He’s having enough trouble managing his own emotions. He cups Jazz’s hips, notches himself between Jazz’s knees, and kisses his way down Jazz’s expertly polished frame, following the path his fingers have already drawn.  
  
Jazz hums deep in his vocalizer, the prelude to a song, and his hips dance in Soundwave’s grip. “Oh, I’m about to get spoiled,” he purrs, and Soundwave huffs a quiet laugh as he nuzzles between Jazz’s thighs, where Jazz is already bare and wet for him.  
  
Jazz shivers all over from the first lick, and they’ve been together too long for Soundwave not to know all the best ways to get him hot and dripping. A flick over Jazz’s anterior node, a long and lengthy lick, a passing stripe up his spike before back to his valve again, wet sucks over his anterior node, enough to make Jazz sing.  
  
His back arches, he grips the covers, his heels drum a beat against Soundwave’s upper back. He draws in heavy, quick vents. He grinds down against Soundwave, and Soundwave curls his hands around Jazz’s thighs, takes away his leverage, and licks him deeper. There’s a sweet song here, in Jazz’s gasps and moans, his hitched vents, the growl of his engine.  
  
He’s dripping lubricant, his nub flickering arrhythmically, and Soundwave pays special attention to it, quick flicks and deep sucks until Jazz finally shouts and grinds against his mouth. Overload flashes over Jazz in a quickfire burst of blue static, and Soundwave’s own arousal hits him like a punch to the mid-section. He gentles his touches, his licks, extending the overload, until Jazz goes limp in his grip, panting and shaking.  
  
That, however, is only the prelude.  
  
Jazz is safe and sound, and Soundwave is going to spoil him, because it is the only thing he knows how to do. He presses kisses around Jazz’s array, along the inside of his thighs. He drags a lick over Jazz’s rigid spike, and prods at the transfluid slit with the tip of his glossa before going back down to ex-vent warm and wet over Jazz’s sensitive nub.  
  
“Teasin’ ain’t the same as spoilin’,” Jazz gasps out, squirming, patting at Soundwave’s head and shoulders, trying to get a grip. “Come on, sweetspark. Get your aft up here and frag me proper.”  
  
Soundwave ignores him for the moment, turning his attention back to the swollen nub and mouthing it gently. Jazz's sharp intake, his twisting hips, the spike of raw need in his field, all pour over Soundwave reassuringly.  
  
"It ain't in your nature to make me beg, love," Jazz pants, tugging at his shoulders again. "Come up here and kiss me."  
  
Soundwave debates for all of a second before the throb in his array makes the decision for him. He leaves one last kiss over Jazz's valve and crawls up his partner's frame, fitting himself between Jazz's thighs, forcing them into a wide splay. He rocks against the swollen heat of Jazz, curving down to capture Jazz's mouth in a kiss, swallowing Jazz's smirk of victory.  
  
He's right. Making Jazz beg isn't in Soundwave's nature. They play enough games as it is, and this is one Jazz has never appreciated. Teasing is one thing, but Soundwave would never make him beg.  
  
"Quit holdin' back," Jazz says, cupping his face, capturing Soundwave's gaze and holding it. "I can hear your fans whining from here.” He presses his knees in against Soundwave's hips and cants his own. "You can't break me."  
  
To anyone else, that might sound like a challenge. Soundwave hears it for the promise it is.  
  
He eases into Jazz, slow and steady, savoring the gradual slide of sensors against nodes, the way Jazz opens up to him, groaning long and low. His calipers flutter, as if trying to draw Soundwave deeper, and the pleasure claws up his spinal strut in throbbing waves. He bottoms out while Jazz strokes his face, and keeps his gaze, letting the walls fall one by one.  
  
The Jazz no one else gets to see.  
  
"There ya are," Jazz breathes, and his field flicker-surges-flows with affection and arousal both, his valve already crackling with hungry charge.  
  
Soundwave does not think he'll last long in his current state either.  
  
"Jazz safe," he murmurs as he starts to move, slow and deep thrusts meant to drag out the pleasure for both of them, tapping Jazz's ceiling node with each deep grind.  
  
Jazz's visor darkens into a lovelier hue. "With you? Always."  
  
Soundwave rumbles deep in his chassis, pleasure coiling and tightening in his array. He presses his forehead to Jazz's, keeping optical contact, which always feels more intimate despite the connection of their arrays. Warm waves flood Soundwave's dermal net, and his pace increases, Jazz squirming beneath him, vents coming in sharper bursts.  
  
"You're so good to me," Jazz murmurs. He grips the back of Soundwave's neck, thighs tightening to the point of armor creaking. "Just the best."  
  
Overload comes for Jazz again, his field flashing out and wrapping around Soundwave in a sunburst of pleasure. He writhes in Soundwave's arms, his valve clamping down rhythmically, and Soundwave doesn't have long to appreciate the beauty of it before he lets Jazz's pleasure drag him along. He thrusts deep, spilling inside Jazz, the ecstasy rolling through him in heavy pulses.  
  
He kisses Jazz because he can, because Jazz is fine (only a mesh wound), and Jazz hums into the kiss, fingers stroking around Soundwave's visor and head with soothing patterns. A rhythm Soundwave can focus on and ventilate, too.  
  
They know each other too well.  
  
"Mm," Jazz murmurs. "How about we have that stasis nap for real, darling?"  
  
"Patience," Soundwave says.  
  
He slips away from the berth with a parting kiss, but only to retrieve a few meshcloths to clean them up. He checks in with Laserbeak and Ravage, both having a grand time helping with the investigation, and by the time he returns, Jazz is halfway to a stasis nap without him.  
  
A couple of good overloads tends to have that effect on him.  
  
Soundwave wipes Jazz down, tossing the meshcloth into the bin, before climbing into the berth, and waiting to see if today is a snuggle day or a distance day. One can never be sure with Jazz.  
  
Immediately, Jazz flops over and tucks himself into the angles of Soundwave's frame, squirming around until they're perfectly notched together. His engine purrs content; there's no pain in his field. Soundwave runs a gentle finger over the static mesh.  
  
Just a mesh wound.  
  
Jazz reaches up, takes his hand, tangles their fingers together and tucks both against his chest, where the back of Soundwave's hand can faintly feel the oscillating vibrations of Jazz's spark.  
  
Soundwave won't ever say 'don't do that again.' He won't ask for it either. It's just who Jazz is. This isn't even the first time he's watched Jazz throw himself into danger, into the line of fire. It's probably not going to be the last.  
  
And then one day, it will be the last. But Soundwave is going to make sure that day is far, far in the future. They both survived the war, after all, and Soundwave is determined they’re both going to survive peace, too.  
  
Jazz squeezes his hand. "Love ya, big guy."  
  
Soundwave rests his chin on top of Jazz's head. "Feeling mutual."  
  


***


End file.
